Tabula Rasa
by cap'n key
Summary: His name was Necure Simente, and he was given missions by the Organization. And oh, what an excellent subject he was. [ Character death, dark themes. ]
1. Soulless Organization

**A/N: **I think this will be the most dark fic I've wrote, and let me tell you I am _excited_. I got this idea when I was awake until four trying to go to sleep and, with nothing to do, I decided to try and break my readers. I'm not going to have many a/n's in this, for the pure fact I really don't want to. So, if anything needs to be clarified, message me or make a review. I'll try to write it in somewhere the clarification, if I can.

**Warning**: There may contain mentions/implications of torture (physically, psychologically, and sexually), as well as non-explicit descriptions of physical and psychological torture. Gore, insanity, slavery, phobias, nightmares, etc. may be described _in detail_. Murder, assault, and main character death will all be present in this fic. Don't read if you don't to see any of that.

_blank _**:: Tabula Rasa :: **_slate_**  
**

**Chapter I . Soulless Organization**

He lay in silence.

Every part of his body hurt. Even places he didn't even knew _existed _hurt and _god_ was he in agony. Every time he breathed, shallow and labored, every time his heart beat, with every shift it even felt like his hair felt the lancing pain as much as his abused torso did. With every shallow breath, there was not only the pain but the disgusting scent of his surroundings and himself. Blood, bile, the scent of charred meat. The sight of all these things were even worse, and he nearly kept his eyes closed at all times. The only thing lighting his cell was a tiny oil lamp that lay outside the criss-cross bars, casting frightening shadows on him that seemed to dance and flicker at all times, even when he was certain the air was still.

His body was naked, prone on the ground. There were messily bandaged gashes and scars and slashes, tears and marks and whatever one could imagine, on his body. There was a large burned area on his calf, a punishment for an attempted escape from the place. A tear in his skin, right along his left eye, prevented the eyelid from opening by himself. One of his ears had a large chunk cut away, and his hair was reaching his mid-back, his bangs easily covering his eyes and parting messily along his face, reddened with his own blood.

His pale skin was endlessly marred, seeming to have a countless amount of wounds. One wrist was obviously broken, as were both of his ankles, and his nails were vaguely like claws. Stubble was obvious on his chin; his hair grew slowly, even this, but it was vaguely noticed. Lashes and more burns were on his back, and his wrists looked like barbed wire had been dug into it, and his arms were red with rope burns and the markings of heated metal. All in all, he was definitely worse for wear.

The young, beaten man was not sure how long he had been there. At first, it had been easy to tell; he could tell the days one from another. He had previously been visited twice a day, once at morn and eve, and thrice every other days, at noon, to be given a small, measly meal that wouldn't hold him to the next visit. He counted out the first month, then the next, then the third, and the fourth, then...he lost it. The longer he progressed in this hellhole, the more fuzzy his memories became. He could not remember the days of the week, first, no matter how hard he tried, and with that he could no longer name how long he had been there. His sense of time was lost. He lost his memories of where he came from. It was simply a blur of grey and blue, he could see a few papers and a large window, a small bed.

Then, it was his companion's names. He could still see all of them - a woman in blue, a dog, a smaller but mature boy, a man with shoulder-length dark hair that sometimes looked different, everyone. Then he forgot their voices, and finally, their appearances altogether. He began to forget himself; if it weren't for the fact he reminded himself every day of who he was. Well, every time one of them visited and he was left conscious. _That's who I am, _he thought. _You musn't forget. You can't! They're relying on you..._

Who was relying on him? He really didn't know. All of his thoughts and memories and dreams and nightmares and hallucinations were swirled together in a mix of colors, shapes, noises, thoughts, words, actions, anything...but he didn't recognize anything but himself.

He didn't even know what he looked like anymore. He could see his body, but that was it. He had no idea on what he himself looked like. He couldn't look the same as always, of course.

...But, then, it was all he could do to remember _himself_. They were trying to change him. They did everything they could; beat him, whipped him, _raped_ him, made him feel like he was going to die, but they kept coming _back_. He would be force given a few gels that would help with the wounds and the pain for a bit, occasionally a cure bottle in his water to keep away infections, but that was it. He wished they would _leave him alone. _Leave him to die, and rot away in this cell. Hope was something scarce; so scarce, it was nonexistent.

He shifted, curling up. It hurt, it hurt so _bad_, but he did it anyway. He looked like a cowering dog awaiting its abusive master, pressed against the wall and seeming to try and shrink away. He knew his captors would be coming soon for another one of the _sessions_. He almost had an uncanny ability to tell when they were going to come, when they were going to be there to attack him and beat him and make him feel even worse than he already did.

He never showed defiance anymore, because if he tried to fight back, even talk back or look at them, the beating grew worse. They would spit insults at him, they would snarl hatefully and make him believe he _was _worthless - what good _had_ he done in the world? Little, he was taken away too fast, it was their fault! Their fault!

...their fault for what?

A quiet, airy whine left him, burying his nose into his wounded arm. He hated being so clueless, feeling like an unknowing _idiot_. He hardly knew how to communicate anymore; his thoughts were the only real form of communication he had. Everything was so...distant now. Everything he felt in the past was like trying to see in dirty water. It was fogged, and he knew it was there...but he couldn't see it at all.

At that time, he heard two voices. One was feminine, the other masculine; both he recognized. Especially the female voice. She terrified him, worse than any of the other ones. She only came when they tried to change him. When they performed...what was the word, what was it...

Experiments. Yes, experiments, that's right. When they performed experiments on him. Incredibly painful ones, at that.

The cell's door unlocked with a quick and the hinges protested as the heavy door was open, and he grimaced and curled up further. He heard the footsteps draw nearer and a fearful whimper escaped him. He heard the female laugh.

Then, his torture began again.

* * *

_Two years earlier_

"Attention!" Flynn shouted, striding down the small rank - there could not be more than fifty knights in the perfect square - his long cape flowing out behind him with his swift, confident steps. There was a clamor of armor as the forty-odd knights slammed the butt of the spear against the ground, right fist going over their heart and left stiff at their side, holding the long weapon straight up. Flynn made them hold the stance in silence, scanning over the rows as he walked around them, occasionally muttering something to a knight or telling them to adjust their stance.

All in all, though, he was quite pleased with how they were working. The drill had gone on for quite a while, and these were rather new knights. They were patient, as well, and he briefly let a proud expression flicker over his face. _I'm glad we can train such good knights, _he thought, a small smile lingering on his face. He opened his mouth to speak another order when he heard the clank of armor and he turned to see a knight in an orange uniform running towards him. The man stopped, breathless, and looked up at him behind the helmet. His armor looked messily put on, and he would have berated the man for not meeting regulation if it wasn't for the urgency in his actions.

"Commandant, sir!" He didn't recognize the voice. "There's something going on in the Lower Quarter - you've been requested to come at once!"

_The Lower Quarter? _This alerted him; what in the world could be going on down there? He nodded, looking over to the ranks, able easily to pick up the golden-haired form of his lieutenant. "Lieutenant Sodia!" he called. "Continue the drills - I'll be back soon." The second-in-command paused but nodded, turning to the knights assembled to continue their drilling.

Then, the blond-haired commandant turned and nodded to the knight, who began a swift pace back down towards the Lower Quarter. Flynn took this time to inspect the man; he'd not be able to get any real details as of yet about whatever was happening in the Lower Quarter.

He was tall, taller than Flynn, and upon closer inspection his uniform seemed a little redder than he last remembered the Schwann Brigade's uniform to be. _Strange, _he thought. _That's the uniform for a swordsman, isn't it? But he has a...spear?_

Things in the Lower Quarter were calm. Completely calm, it seemed. Flynn raised an eyebrow, confused, but the man urged him on and he quickened his walk a bit. "...What's going on?" he asked. "Didn't you say something was wrong?" The man nodded, and Flynn couldn't see the smirk under his helmet. However, the blond reached for his sword, just in case. Soon he was led into a back part of the Quarter, where a terribly large amount of crime _did _occur. The part where anyone, noble or knight or commoner or pauper, stayed away from.

"..." His questioning grew when he was led towards and alley, and he finally drew his sword. "Where are we going? Tell me now!" he demanded, and the knight turned, backing up and raising the spear.

"Oh, commandant, we're not going anywhere. We're already here," the man responded, raising the helmet of his uniform with a grin. This was _not_ a knight, he was sure of it. Flynn growled and stepped forward, and at that moment he heard three pairs of boots hit the ground behind him and he whipped around. Great, now he was surrounded in this alleyway. Two of the black-clad people carried swords- one a greatsword and the other a broadsword-, the other a pair of chain scythes. The commandant clenched his teeth, and heard the clink of armor behind him. He hopped to the left, easily avoiding the spear.

However, the sword and scythes were not as easy to avoid. They were all three on him at once, like cats pouncing on their prey. He parried one blow only to have to duck away from another. They were not holding back, and neither could he, but they were strong; once, when their swords clashed - the song of steel colliding sounding - and their crosspieces met, he felt like he had tried to hit a brick wall with his wrist. Cursing, he was driven back - and soon nearly cornered at the back of it. The person with the scythes lunged, making cutting motions at him, and he ducked to the side and sprinted, trying to get back to open ground as quick as he could, but the not-knight intercepted him. He moved to the right in just enough time that the flat of a sword didn't come down on his head.

And that's what alerted him; this _wasn't _an assassination attempt. If it was, they would have cut him in half by now. They were trying to capture him - which might be worse, in some ways.

Correction: this both alerted him _and_ distracted him. He was trying to think and move at the same time, and wasn't paying attention to the knight behind him. He felt an iron grip grab his forearms, yanking them back and then forcing the sword from him. _Shit, shit, shit, no! _The knight kicked the back of his knees, where there was an opening in his armor, and he felt himself being forced to his knees.

One of the figures, the one with the greatsword, raised the pommel of the weapon high above his head.

Everything went black.

* * *

Flynn woke up to almost-complete darkness. He was lying on the ground in a shadowy cell, but upon opening his heavy eyelids he could see the flame of a small oil lamp. He raised up and felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, his vision briefly spinning and going in and out of focus. He lie still again, definitely not daring stand. His movements were off balance enough as it was. He tried to survey his surroundings, slowly taking them in. There was an uncomfortable cobblestone floor where he lay, a pair of shackles in the corner - he noticed with a flinch that the inside of the cuffs had tiny spikes that would gouge into one's wrist - and a similar pair of shackles, though not with the spines, lower down, presumably for ankles. There was a hook on the other side of the room, lit only with the dim gleam from the lamp.

The bars were in squares, tiny and not letting him see very much outside but still allowing the light to filter through and illuminate the place a bit. The door was solid iron; there wouldn't be any simple breaking out of here. There were no vents or passages he could see obviously, and finally, vision having calmed a bit and focused, he stood. He felt a pang of pain in his head but kept himself steady, glancing around. He slowly circled the cell, feeling and looking for any indentations that could signal a secret passageway; obviously, he'd been kidnapped and he'd rather not stay til when whoever his captor was came back down for him.

There was nothing, though, and he grimaced; this was just his luck, wasn't it? He closed his eyes, leaning against a corner. His memories were fuzzy, hardly there, but if he concentrated he could remember a bit. That's right, he'd been doing drill inspections with a section of the Flynn Brigade. And then a knight wearing an orange uniform had ran up and told him there was something urgent going on in the Lower Quarter. The man had seemed hurried and so Flynn had believed him, following him to the Lower Quarter and leaving the Lieutenant to finish off the inspection for him. However, upon reaching the area the knight had designated, he was met with an ambush. The last thing he remembered was the pommel of a broadsword being risen above his head while his arms were restrained, and then he had woke up disoriented here. No doubt what had happened in between that.

_Ok, you know that much. All you have to do now is think reasonably, calmly, and collectively, _he thought, eyes closing. _Who was it in the first place? _

He tried harder to pull back the memories. He remembered something - thinking that the man's orange Schwann Brigade uniform looked a little off. A little more red than he remembered, but now he was certain it was different. The armor didn't appear to exactly fit the main, either. And he was carrying a spear, while wearing a uniform of a swordsman. _So, it was a spy. Man, I was off my game._

Really off his game; how didn't he know? The more he thought, the more utterly _suspicious_ the man had seemed. His voice was a little too frantic; the man was overacting. A man in the Schwann Brigade, as noble as the majority of them are, would still care little about the Lower Quarter. There were few that did, not counting the ones actually from there. He should have noticed how there was no commotion at all in the quarter, as well, but he'd been determined to make sure nothing was wrong. He was overprotective of that place, after all.

"I feel like an idiot," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, he heard a door open. It wasn't the iron door to his cell, though, not yet, and he turned, walking quickly to the bars to try and look through. He heard footsteps coming down stairs and narrowed his eyes, reading himself to fight. Whoever it was, though, was expecting it, and when they opened the iron door, they ducked and Flynn's aimed strike missed their target of the man's head. He straightened, glaring down at the slightly shorter blond.

"Well, well, if it isn't the little commandant," he spat, grabbing him by the hair. Flynn hissed and lashed out, but the man jerked him roughly. Closing the door behind him, he practically tossed Flynn to the ground. The dazed blond felt his head hit the floor, sent into another bout of dizziness and random focusing and blurring of his vision. The man who'd thrown him was stronger than Flynn had anticipated, and when he started to get up the man grabbed him by the hair again. "Not lookin' so high and mighty now, are you?"

Flynn cursed softly, glaring up at him. With the glare he earned a strike to the jaw, but that didn't offset him very much. The knight growled and spat in the man's face, who leered back. He didn't seem to be getting really _mad_, though, which was what Flynn wanted. The angrier, the clumsier, right?...but also the stronger.

"I never _was_ looking 'high and m'-"

"Shut up! I didn't say you could talk, did I?" the man snapped, slapping Flynn hard. The commandant jerked and then tried to pull away, aiming a swift kick at the man's shin. However, this was intercepted by the man kicking _Flynn's _leg out and forcing him onto his knees on the floor, and then onto his stomach, heel digging into his back. He grinned toothily at the blond, a glint in his eye that the blond's azure eyes caught. A cruel, heartless gleam.

Then, Flynn's torture began.


	2. A Sanguinary Mind

**A/N: **By the way, this fic is supposed to be kind of vague with time skips and the like; it's supposed to be written similar to how someone insane would tell it, or similar to that. Just a thing to keep in mind.

* * *

_blank_** :: Tabula Rasa :: **_slate_

**Chapter II . A Sanguinary Mind  
**

* * *

He felt nothing, really. It was almost as if his body had given up; all he felt was numb, like trillions of tiny needles were pricking every part of his body. His mind felt similar, and he couldn't think straight. Hell, he couldn't remember his own name. His eyes were red and puffy, as if from crying, but he no longer had much moisture in his body to produce any more tears. He was curled up, completely silent, eye staring at the greyish-red stones that made up the uncomfortable floor.

His mind hadn't felt right in a long, long time. It started slowly, hearing things that weren't there, feeling a soft breeze even though he was far from any type of wind or clean air, only the stale, rank air surrounding him at all times. He'd hear things that sounded muffled, he could hear a name being called - he didn't know who's it was - could hear footsteps even though there was no one there. Then, he started to see things, feel things that weren't there strongly. The shadows of the ever-present oil lamp's flame made shadow monsters with vicious claws and teeth just waiting to rip him apart on the walls, the creak of the walls turning into snarls and growls. The air around him felt liquid and thick, like he was in a pool of invisible blood.

He'd tried to calm himself, to forget these things. Tried to keep a steady mind, but the longer it went on, the thinner the threads that held his mentality together loosened. Every hour he was awake, their ties grew weaker, weaker, and the more he forgot, the faster they let go. It...hurt, forgetting, changing. But he couldn't stop it, no matter how much he tried.

Soon, there was nothing left. Very little he _didn't _forget.

It only hurt, now, when they gave him new wounds. Those seemed to make his body come alive again and then _everything _was painful, but when they stopped, it stopped, too. Or, maybe it didn't. Maybe he was just imagining it stopping 'cos he wanted it to stop.

He heard the click of the door. _Oh..._ he thought mindlessly. _...coming..they're coming...again..._ He had a mental image of a demon-like, humanoid creature, striding down the steps to his cell. He laughed softly, a hoarse, dry chuckle, at this image. _So s__tupid...so...worse...worse, demons...worse than demons...maybe they're here to kill me...wouldn't that be nice? Just...leave me be...wanna die, this is terrible. Damn demons. Can you kill me? Bet that's what you're gonna do today..._

He heard a voice, then. It was familiar but he didn't know exactly who it was. He'd heard the voice before, of course. It was the first voice in his mind. _Idiot. They're not going to kill you. Why would they do that? What would they gain? Nothing, that's right. You're already dead to the world._

_Shut up. I didn't ask your opinion you...for..I didn't ask for your opinion._

_Idiot._

He raised his head and his dead blue eye fell upon the iron cell door that kept him from freedom. _Hey, demon. You comin'?_ The hinges squawked in protest as the door opened, creaking and whining. The woman was at the doorway. He grinned lopsidedly, his grin like he was drunk, as the image of devil horns and wings on the woman formed in his mind, and laughed softly, a dry, hoarse chuckle that made pinpricks in his throat. _Fitting. Y'know, maybe I should send you to Hell. Could just kill you...then you'd be happy! Happier than you are here. Go apply for the job...you can be head demon. They'll love y'... _She smiled at him and his grin turned into a glare. It wasn't defiant, it was more like a glare a child would give their mother after they were punished.

_Now, now, don't do that,_ came a new voice. He was familiar with this one too, but like all of the voices, it didn't have a name. Well, it did, but every time she tried to tell him it was muffled and he gave up on learning it. It wasn't important anyway. But he liked this voice, because she sounded sweet and her voice was pretty and soothing. She talked to him a lot when he was hurt and it comforted him. She also talked with the other voice, and sometimes got into arguments with him. But that was ok, because she usually won the arguments.

He knew their personalities pretty well. The male voice was mean and reckless, and told him to do a lot of things he didn't want to do. Told him stuff that would get him in trouble, too, so he tried to ignore that guy. He and the male voice argued a lot, but that was ok too because, if he thought hard enough, he could get the male voice to shut his trap. Sometimes the sweet voice might silence him as well.

Again, his vision refocused as he snapped back to reality. The woman was picking him up and he almost growled. _Hey, put me down, demon. _All he could rely on was his thoughts; he didn't dare speak anything, because, even though it hurt like being on fire being picked up, it would be worse if he spoke. So he remained quiet. His throat hurt too, though, still did. Ow. _I'm gonna kill y' when I'm out of here, _he thought firmly. _Gonna...gonna cut you open, put you in that cell. Make you feel what I did. 'S gonna hurt, gonna _hurt_! I promise you! _His angry mental rambling went on, and he let himself a lopsided smirk, right eye closing as he imagined it; her stomach cut open, throat slit, blood pooling around her...

_Yeah. Gonna show you what it feels like..._

_Hey, look, the idiot finally has a nice idea. It would be a good stress reliever, wouldn't it?_

_Yeah, it would. _It was one of the only times he agreed with the male voice. _I'm gonna do it, too. Just wait._

_Hey... _A muffled noise escaped the sweet voice, it sounded like a name but like all the voices he couldn't tell what it said. _Don't tell him to do something that stupid! We don't want him to die._

_We don't? He wants to._

Yeah, he does want to. Maybe he should...but what could he cut her open with? Don't have anything. A knife would be nice. Knice, ha! He laughed again in reality, and he felt the woman shift his weight. He was in her arms but he didn't open his eye yet. Didn't want to.

_That's no reason!_ the female voice berated. _He deserves to live!_

_No he doesn't._

Look, the other voice was right again. C'mon, stop defending him.

_Yes, he does! Don't tell him to do reckless things, ...!_

He shut them out, opening his right eye and letting his gaze focus again. Ugh, where were they going? He'd never seen the outside of his cell before. He looked around, but everything was kind of blurry and bright and hurt his eye. It also hurt everything else, but that was normal. It especially hurt his eye. There was a window, too. He didn't remember the outside world. Everything was simply confined to his cell before, but now he felt better. So there was stuff beyond! He didn't know how much, though. _This is a dream, duh. Why would they take you out? _It was that inconsiderate bastard!

_Shut up! _he demanded, shaking his head. He was laid down on something that was bright like the rest of the room and it felt good. Kind of cool and soft, a lot different from the stale, cold air from where he came from. And it didn't feel like rocks and it smelled good. There were no more of the dark monsters that wanted to kill him on the walls, just peace.

_Ok, maybe she isn't a demon. She's nice, I like her._

_No you don't. You just want to say that because then she'll be nicer, or so you think._

_Would you shut up!?_

_No!_

_God dammit!_

"...lil' bastard..." he mumbled out loud, because she had walked away. He was quiet, too. She didn't notice him, ha. But he couldn't get up. "...eh?" His wrists were tied and he hadn't even realized it to the sides of the bed. "Ow..." He noticed how his broken wrist hurt. Everything was hurting again, kind of numb but it still hurt. He was about to mumble another complaint when someone pulled up a chair next to him. They had something in their hand and he glared, but didn't know what it was.

"Hello, there." It was the first time someone had spoke to him calmly and he was a little surprised. He didn't verbally reply. "Go on, you can talk."

_It's a trap, don't say anything, _the sweet voice urged. The blond said nothing.

"Have you been trained not to say anything? Or just won't? It's a shame; you'll have to for this."

_Don't say anything!_

_If he doesn't say anything, he'll get hurt. You're always telling me not to say things that will get him hurt._

_He might get hurt either way._

He shut them out again. They were inconsiderate a lot. Sometimes, he did want peace and quiet. _You're too loud_, he complained. Finally, they silenced. He looked up at the man. "...what?" he muttered. His voice was still hoarse and dammit, that hurt.

"Good, good. Almost worried you wouldn't be able to speak," he said. "Now, do you know who you are?"

He thought long and hard, but he still didn't know. He'd lost that a long time ago. "No."

"Well, that's because you were captured." Well, duh. Tell me something I don't know.

Although, he really didn't know that. He didn't remember when he'd first came in.

"You were captured a long time ago by a person named Yuri. He made you live the way he wanted you to, but he made it seem like you were doing your own thing. He disagreed with you a lot. He made you betray us, the Organization. He joined with you to kill off our leader. He tortured and pained you, and the only way we could get you back was to do the same. He hates you." _Yuri? Didn't ring a bell, but ok. _In his state, the blond was gullible. His mind was weak and he'd not seen daylight for over two and a half years. He wanted an explanation, and this one was good. Yes, Yuri. He hated Yuri. Yuri made him go through this.

_Damn you to Hell. You're the real demon, _he thought firmly as if this Yuri could read his mind.

"He gave you a new persona. He named you Flynn. He made you believe you were from the Lower Quarter, he planted _so _many false memories. He made you think you were everything to him, and vice versa." _Damn you, Yuri! It's all your fault! _"He despised you, though. He hates you as much as you hate him. We brought you back to protect you. But he wiped all your memories, and we must bring them back. Every little one, ok? You have to work with us."

_I want to kill him. _He's _going to be the one with his stomach spilling blood. I'll show you. No one messes with _my_ life! _"Ok."

"Good, now let's start with basics. Your name is Necure Simente. Now, what did I say?"

"My name. It is Necure Simente." _Those will be the last words Yuri hears. I will tell him my true name._

"Good, good! See, you're already making progress, aren't you? Now...you're also an honorable person, but you can kill very easily. No one stands in your way except the Organization." _I know that! _

The man told him things that he - Necure - insisted on already knowing, though not out loud and much of it he didn't already know. They might have been sitting there an hour or a day, because Necure's sense of time was completely off, and had been for the majority of his time here. Finally, the man straightened. "Now, finally. I am here to heal you well," he said, and the single blue eye that could open raised. _Heal me?_ There was a real surprise. "..heal...?"

But dammit, he didn't want healing! Couldn't you just let him die? No, of course not. _What's the point of them killing you? _The words echoed again in his head.

"Yes, heal you. You can't fight and take your revenge on Yuri if you're hurt, can you?"

Great point. "No," he said. "Heal..me quick!"

"It will take time; you are far too injured. But when we can, your tasks will begin." He scowled. He wanted to do it _now_, but he'd have to wait. _Good. More time that I can plan how he dies! _"Another thing; we will have to mark you." He looked up, raising an eyebrow. Mark him? What'd that mean?

"It will hurt, of course, but that is part of the process," he said. Necure muttered something under his breath and he nodded. "We'll be giving you a tattoo; one you can remember us by. If you're ever captured again by him, if he tries filling your head with lies..." The larger man's eyes narrowed. "You won't forget us."

Necure nodded. He liked this idea now; imagining Yuri trying forever to break him, but he could keep remembering. He didn't have to worry! _It'll show him! This is who I _truly _am! _he thought firmly.

_You're being stupid, _the male voice said angrily, after being silent for so long.

_Don't kill anyone, Necure, please._

_Shut up, both of you! _He didn't like being rude to the one with the pretty voice, but sometimes she held him back. Telling her to shut up was needed. They both, indeed, went silent. _Good_.

"Ok," he said, nodding to the man, who undid his restraints. He didn't try to fight back; why would he? Of course, he could be easily overtaken in his state, but that didn't matter. He wanted this. It would show _him_.

"I'm ready."

* * *

_Zaphias, one year prior  
_

"We _can't _stop looking for Commandant Flynn yet!" the orange-haired woman said, then hesitated, eyes closing. "I-I'm sorry, Your Highness, I..."

Sodia, Yuri, and Estelle stood in front of Ioder's desk. The blond young man was standing, his blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The past year had been difficult for all of them; their new commandant had disappeared like a vapor of water in the air, simply whisked from existence, it seemed. They had gotten no clues, there were no witnesses.

"Acting Commandant Sodia," Ioder said, calmly but it was obvious he was both pained about this and thinking hard. "We cannot spare troops to continue searching for Flynn. I'm going to have to appoint you fully as commandant. I'm sorry."

Sodia knew this was a rather small thing; it would only be ridding Flynn as technical commandant. But...it felt like they were finishing off his existence. Forgetting him. He could be dead for all they knew, but he could be alive, too, right?

"Your Highness, _please_," she begged. _Is this how Flynn thought when he was searching for Yuri? _she thought halfheartedly. The long-haired swordsman was standing next to her with a grim expression, a set jaw and eyes obviously hiding emotions. The worried, pinkette princess stood next to her, shifting her weight with obviously concerned eyes. "We _need _to keep searching. What if he's alive?"

"Sodia, we haven't seen him in a year," this time it was Yuri speaking, and he had hung his head a bit. His eyes weren't visible behind his curtain-like, nonuniform bangs. "What are the chances he's alive? If he were alive, we would have heard something by now, wouldn't we?"

The violet-eyed woman grimaced. _No...but, we can't...he has to be alive, I know he's alive! _She could tell Yuri doubted he was dead, too, though. But...there were so many things against him. How _could _he be alive?

Ioder sighed. "I will give you two months," he said. "After that, we have to call off the search."

* * *

_Zaphias, two months later  
_

"Sodia?" It was Yuri's voice. He was walking towards her.

"_What_, Lowell?" She didn't mean for her voice to hold so much venom. She heard his footsteps stop.

"...have you called off the search?"

Of course he would come about that.

"...not yet."

"We're supposed to give it up now, you know." There was unbidden pain in his voice. He didn't want to let go, but they had to.

"I know," she snapped again.

"I'm just telling you," he said. "I'm going to keep looking. He can't be dead."

This surprised her. But, why was he telling her?

The vigilante was gazing straight at her, firmly. "If you ever get a lead and can't follow it out, tell me. I'm going to make sure whoever that's done something with Flynn _pays_ dearly."

She wanted to reprimand him with this threat. But, she felt the same.

"...Lowell."

"...Yeah, Sodia?"

"Thank you. I will be sure to tell you."

He turned, waving his hand in the nonchalant manner she'd seen him do to Flynn in times past.

"Yeah, don't worry about it.

* * *

_Aurnion, a year after Necure's release  
_

The night was bathed in silence. The moon and stars were the only things that shown light; that, and a guard's torch. A pair of knights patrolled the area. They were unaware of the presence that had snuck easily behind the wooden gate and now lie in wait. They passed without seeing the hiding form, and the figure grinned.

Sharpened, pearly white teeth glinted in the escaping torchlight.

The figure silently darted to one of the homes. He grabbed the small scythe made into a formidable weapon, slipping it off a specially-made leather sheath. He tried the door; locked. Figured. His eyes flickered back towards the knights, they were beginning to round the place and come back. He quickly hopped behind the house, and glanced towards the window. _Hm..._

There was an open window on the second story of the house, but there were few footholds. Getting up there would be hard. He raised his hand, pulling off the eyepatch he wore with one hand, revealing a green eye.

An electric green, mechanical eye that glowed dimly in the night.

The lack of footholds wouldn't stop him easily, though. He backed up - there was a boulder on the right side of the house - and crouched on it. Waiting for the torchlight to grow smaller in the distance, he jumped and caught ahold of the support beam that held up the second floor. He pushed off the wall with his soft-soled leather boots, sending himself swinging. Once he had enough force behind him and was high up, he let go, flipping over the edge onto the small patio on the side of the house. "_Hn_."

He straightened, pulling out the scythe completely now, quietly testing this door. It was unlocked; grinning, teeth flashing again, he stepped inside, beginning to hum cheerfully to himself. He closed the door behind him, inspecting the second floor. There were only two rooms in it; one was a small bathroom, the other a medium-sized bedroom. Creaking open the door quietly, he looked inside. It was a child's room, and in lay a small boy, no older than seven or eight - and the boy was whimpering, tossing and turning in his sleep. A nightmare. He opened the door and put away the scythe, straightening up. _I could have a little fun._

"Boy. Boy, are you awake?" he asked softly. "Come on, wake up." Lightly, he shook the child's shoulder, kneeling down. He swiftly put on the eye patch again, hiding the mechanical eye.

"...hmn?" The struggling slowed, then the boy's eyes opened. They were a startling blue, much like his own. Or, like his one. Then he gasped and the figure pulled up a hand, finger to his lips.

"_Shh_. You were having a nightmare, and I was sent to wake you up. That's my job." He smiled convincingly at the child, who tilted his head and then frowned.

"Oh, yeah...I remember something scary! Thank you, mister." Children were so gullible. "Do you that for every kid?"

"Oh, no. Only some, only the good ones, ok?" he replied. "Then, if you want, we can play a game! It's late at night, but we can do it anyway."

"But..." the child wiped his eyes and yawned. "I kinda wanna go back to sleep again. I'm still tired." _How disappointing._

"Ok, that's fine, too. Do you want me to sing you a bedtime story so you can go back to sleep?"

"...Yes, mister, please? Can you?"

The form nodded and smiled comfortingly, raising up and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I know the perfect one. Here, listen...~"

The child nodded and closed his eyes. "Alright! 'M ready."

The blond slowly unsheathed the scythe as he spoke, singing indeed a lullaby for the small child.

_Come dear little child,_

_I'll take you away, into a land of enchantment.._

_Come dear little child,_

_The time's come to play; here in my garden of magic_

He experimentally twirled the scythe quietly, continuing to sing. The child did not hear it; most likely, he was already half-asleep.

_Follow, sweet little child,__ I'll show you the way,  
_

_Through all the pain...and the sorrows,_

_Weep not poor child, for life is this way_

_Murdering beauty and passions_

He grinned again, and there almost appeared a maniac look on his face. His first kill not being watched; he was intent on making it as good of kill as possible.

_Hush now, dear child, it must be this way,_

_Too weary of life and deceptions_

_Rest now dear little child,_

_for soon we'll away, in to the calm and the quiet._

The blade inched closer to the sleeping boy's neck.

_Come little children,_

_I'll take thee away, into a land of enchantment.._

_Come little children,_

_The time's come to play; here in my garden of **shadows**_.

That night, a family was lost; a boy, his father, and his mother.

And no one saw the blond figure fleeing into the night, hands and weapons covered in blood.


	3. No Rest for the Wicked

_blank _**:: Tabula Rasa :: **_slate_

**Chapter III . No Rest for the Wicked  
**

* * *

Necure wasn't sure _why_ he was made to look like he did. It was a little annoying, in all honestly. He didn't like having to brush the long hair ( it grew strangely slow now - as it had _before_. Why was this? He had also been asked permission to cut it - he was denied. ) and neither did he liked having the eyepatch constantly covering the green, dimly glowing eye. Said eyepatch was wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet now; he was near the Organization's headquarters, and didn't have to worry about them seeing it. He had a long scar running over where his left eye had originally been, and at least that did to help for it to avoid question. People on the streets of a small town weren't ones for wanting to see a nasty wound like what might be hidden beneath the patch.

Then, there was the fact of his body in general. His teeth were sharp - that was a pain to make an excuse for, did they really need to sharpen his teeth? _I'm not a damn dog, I don't _bite_ people, for Zaude's sake, _\- and went noticed quite a bit. The weapon, at least, was easy to conceal. Well, more camouflage than _conceal_; wearing the dark tunic, grey pants, and leather boots, he could have passed off fine as a traveler or farmer. This was slightly insulting to him - _he_? A petty farmer? No, no, he valued himself much greater than that, even if someone else mistook him.

That was fine, though, because not many people who didn't know what he was saw him, and the ones who did usually found themselves lying dead in blood the next morning.

Oops.

The entrance to the Organization's headquarters was rather secluded. Indeed, it was on Hypionia, nestled in a hidden mountainside. The entrance looked only to be a small crack in the side of the mountain, but if one slipped in, it would quickly widen out. A torch lit up the widened inside, far enough away the light couldn't be seen from the inside. For anyone watching, Necure would simply look like he were finding a shelter for the night. Unbeknownst to them, the cave ran deep and downwards, splitting into passage after passage. There was an above-ground area, too, but it was small and impractical.

He had been brought here; originally he was kept in a small town nearby, newly settled in and created shortly after Aurnion's finished construction. For his training, he'd lived here. Now, he could go on missions freely again, and while doing so wondered how exactly he'd forgotten the thrill of being the sword of death, with the ability to end any life he so chose. It was a rather pleasing thought, to him.

He swiftly made his way down the caves, eyes - especially the left - easily adjusting to the dim torchlight. Soon, though, the torchlight faded and then was replaced by regular lighting, the blond working his way downwards. The trip to the main section of the headquarters was a long ways, not meant for anyone injured or just exploring.

Or, someone who was suspicious. By now, they probably would have turned back.

"Hah!" He jumped from one rock to the other, almost in a childlike and playful manner. There were easier ways to get down, but this was more fun. He sprang down, landing on the rock ground next to a hallway, walls built firmly. He straightened, striding through with a confident, pleased smirk on his face, pulled-up hair like a cape behind him. He didn't even acknowledge the guards there - they recognized him instantly - and pushed open the doors. The guards here glanced over as well, but relaxed quickly. He wasn't exactly little-known here, and his visible tattoo obviously gave him a rite of passage through the doors.

He hadn't slept in a while, though. He'd gone straight for Aurnion and back - no dilly-dallying about what to do there. He was tired, though; he didn't have unlimited energy. He was tired and, despite his recent almost playfulness, would be very easily irritable.

So, when a young man wearing the uniform of a messenger strode quickly up to him, he scowled down at him. The young man almost appeared to shrink back, then spoke. "S-Simente, sir," he began, "Kist wishes to see you in his office." There was a tiny, respectful bow and Necure glared at him, growling softly. It wasn't long 'til the young man scrambled away.

_Kist, huh? What's he want now? _Dyston Kist was the founder of the Organization. He'd been Alexei's top researcher and had also been a high ranking knight in the Royal Guard before Alexei had fell and the 'manipulated' Flynn had taken the seat as Commandant of the Imperial Knights. He was also a man that Necure spoke to regularly, and who he believed had rescued him from the hands of the disgusting Yuri Lowell.

Just thinking about _that_ bastard made Necure cringe.

Kist was also the man that had given Necure his tattoo and had been the main healer. As such, the blond had a level of respect for the higher-up. And not a bad relationship with him, either. He was a little exasperated, now, to be called, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Even so, he wasn't the type to disobey orders. Exhaling rather loudly, he spun on his heel and began the trek towards the man's office.

It took him a while to reach it; he was in no sense hurrying. He finally found the man's room ( _geeze_, why was it so far _back_? ) knocking on the door with his weight shifted lazily. He heard the voice, saying, "Come in, Necure!"; Kist obviously knew who it was outside his door. The blond pushed it open, stepping inside. There stood him and his son, Aaron Kist.

The boy was meager and only about sixteen or seventeen. He was a nervous wreck of a person, always shaking slightly or glancing around the room slightly wide eyes. He looked like a frighten rabbit, in Necure's opinion. He was thin as well; lanky, with a tousle of blackish-brown hair that fell a little below his shoulder blades ( long hair was a sort of a mark of the Organization ) and was messily cut, much of the strands longer than others. He was constantly shifting his weight and moving, lip bitten.

_What a waste. Why is he even still _at _the Organization?_

It wasn't because of his father; Necure had a pretty good idea his father didn't care much about him - no, if he were to try and get away, he'd be killed. He'd seen the boy get injured, beat, anything, and while he'd seen mothers sobbing over their children ( usually because blood was on his hands - oops ) he never even saw Dyston blink an eye at his son. He didn't value the young man's life.

Unfortunately for the boy, neither did Necure.

"Sit down, sit down," Dyston offered, waving towards a chair. He wasted no time in sitting down; this was a lot better than walking miles away over the course of a mere week and a half or so with very little sleep. He was _tired_, this better be quick.

"What do you want, Kist?" Whoops, his voice was a little too spiteful. Dyston seemed to understand his irritable state, though.

"I want you to train my son here. To be a true member of the Organization." _Oh, no._

"...Come again?"

"I want you to train my son," Kist repeated. "He's very...reluctant to be apart of the Organization. We will have to change that; after all, you live better here than the knights, correct?

He didn't really remember. "Yes, it is. Neither the Empire nor the Guilds are a good place to be - all under the jurisdiction of some law. None are very powerful."

"He is correct, don't you hear, Aaron?" Kist's voice was not friendly. "You will never find the freedom you find here anywhere else."

_I wish I could have the freedom to go to sleep, _Necure thought absently. _Shut up, I'll get to it eventually. _"He's right."

The boy glanced away, green eyes training on the ground. "I-I hear you, sirs," the timid young boy responded. Necure huffed, crossing his arms. He looked back at Dyston, frowning. "Do I really have to train this kid? I'm not good with kids," he muttered, and Kist nodded.

"You're the best when it comes to the field. The best soldier - you like what you do, you know, that's what makes you good at it. You'll just have to show Aaron to do so."

Necure leered at the boy and the charcoal-haired boy stepped back. "Yes, alright." _Whatever. _"When do I start?"

"As soon as you see fit. Within the next week, I hope."

"...hmf. Deal, I'll train your kid. If he ends up dead, it's not my fault."

"Of course." There wasn't even a trace of concern in his voice. A grin wanted to stretch its way across his face, but he didn't. _Yeesh, heartless, _he thought, mentally snickering at the idea. Heartless? Yeah, so was everyone else here. Well, except this kid. Why _him_, of all people, really? He didn't want to deal with a clumsy, ridiculously nervous boy on a trip. _Going to get himself caught, _he thought, then arched an eyebrow. _That's a good idea, actually. Maybe I should just raise the alarm and get out before he does. Wouldn't be too difficult, would it? He's _terribly _untalented. _

"Now that that is finished, your new assignment has been chosen." _Boy, I'm excited. _"You don't have to begin it soon, though, you can wait a bit. I would recommend taking the boy, though, Necure," Dyston was almost finished, at least, good, "as it will be...educational. It's a larger-scale mission, though, so make sure he can't screw it up."

_Bet he will, _Necure thought, nodding and snatching the paper that held the assignment details. He wouldn't even be bothered to read them yet, he wanted sleep, for Zaude's sake. "Can I go?"

A bit more professionally than Necure's casual, irritable state, Kist nodded, replying, "Yes, you are dismissed." Necure rolled his eye - well, one of them - and began to walk out of the room.

"Yeah, I'll be on the mission sooner or later." _Most likely the latter, _Necure thought firmly, and the door closed behind him.

* * *

Necure lay in bed the next morning, eyes scanning over the document rather swiftly.

_The Organization: Mission Journal [ **Code**: 8791 ] Headquarters Office_

_**Assassin:** Necure Simente [ 1337 ] **Location: **Josief, Hypionia [ South of Aurnion ] **Scale: **Large **Type: **Assassination_

**_Trip Time [ return trip included ]: _**_[ On foot ] Two (2) Weeks  
_

_The small village of Josief, located in southeastern Hypionia, with a population of 12 adults and unnumbered children [ beneath the age of 15 ], is to be destroyed with as little remaining survivors as possible. A highly experienced assassin is preferred, as they need to complete this within the two-week time period of the going and return trip, with the maximum time being two weeks total. There are people within Josief suspected of having high intelligence on some works that may be going on here. As such, they are all to be eliminated, especially the suspects; Johnson and Amry Philis. Quick time is needed, because they are thought to be making plans to go to the Imperial Knights about the Organization and Aurnion is a swifter journey from Josief than the Organization's Headquarters. Be warned of low-powered monsters on the way there, as well as makeshift weapons from the village. There is also a supposed powerful swordsman in the area; be extremely wary of him. His name is Triton Roice.  
_

_Be aware, assassin, and good luck._

**_Main Objective:_**_ Eliminate the Philis family_

**_Secondary Objective:_**_ Destroy the village_

_Report completion, alteration, or mistake in this mission journal to the Head, Dyston Kist, in any of this cases._

At least it wasn't the usual mission that would come from a random client willing to pay ( _and, ha, willing to die - any client that came into direct contact with an Organization agent would be assassinated after the payment received, so their anonymity would be certain _) and could possibly give him some actual _fun_. Especially this...oh, what was his name, what was it...Roice. Triton Roice, that would make this mission so much more fun. Perhaps he could even this supposed 'powerful swordsman' for himself. Finally, something that would _really _give him some enjoyment.

But, damn it. Why did that Kist boy have to come with him? That nervous kid was going to slow him down and he knew it. The kid was _weak_, and Necure knew it. He couldn't get out of the kid's training, though, even more great. _Maybe I'll use the kid as bait for that swordsman. Make _him _go assassinate the guy, yeah. That'd be nice._ He could probably get away with it, too.

How fun.

* * *

They'd been traveling for almost a week and it was dark. How convenient; apparently, Necure had left on the right time, because there was a new moon, and the only dim light came from the stars. He could hear the kid's teeth chattering; that was infuriating. It wasn't cold, only a little chilly and the kid was wearing a _jacket_, he wasn't, so it could only be out of anxiety.

_Shut up, _he wanted to snap, but that might give away their position.

They had been given a small map the day Necure had said they were ready to leave. It was a rough sketch of the village made by an agent, but it was rather accurate. They had approached where the Philis household was, and were now crouched among the undergrowth, eyes scanning the perimeter. Or, at least, his were, but the kid's were closed and faced away. _Weak_.

"Listen, boy," he suddenly hissed beneath his breath, and the youth squeaked, looking up at him with a frightened look. "I'll be back in a second. Stay here, and if you make a noise and set them off, I'll come and kill you before anyone else, you hear?"

There was a swift nod. "Y-yessir!" The boy was clearly frightened. Good, he should be; Necure was a frightening figure.

Without saying anything else, Necure swiftly emerged from the undergrowth. His steps were silent and stealthy, obviously experienced in this. Well, not _that_ experienced, but he'd been through a hard training to have the abilities drilled back into him, and it'd worked as if he'd done it before. He was like a silent mountain lion beginning towards his prey's den.

There were one guard out. He would finish them after his main objective was completed. The front door was locked, and - though he could easily pick the lock - the guard's route was walking straight past the door, and it wasn't like the lightly-armed man had a long circle to make. Besides, what assassin just strode in through the front door? Grinning slightly, he made his way around the house, looking this way and that. No one around, of course. There was a fence around the back but, easily clearing it, it turned out to be a garden and he winced slightly as his foot landed on a round object and made him nearly slip and fall. He caught himself quickly, though, pressing briefly against the tall fence to make sure none had heard him.

People, however, only thought and saw what they wanted to see, and he didn't even hear the guard stop. His smirk returned and he slipped his way up to the door, sliding the lock pick and knife from a small pouch on his belt. The lock didn't take long, and he opened the door, walking in. The dim ashes of a fire were in the fireplace, and the home even smelled warm. There was also the smell of their dinner, recently eaten, and he listened to make sure neither of them were awake. They had no children, apparently, so he wouldn't have to worry about a troublesome child waking up in the prime of the night to find the carnage of their parents' fates.

He quietly began up the stairs, flinching and freezing when one wooden step beneath his leather boot creaked and whined in protest of his weight. When there was no stir in the home, he brought himself the way up, peering around the corner of the hallway. This was an unfortunate position; while an enemy couldn't see him, he certainly couldn't see the enemy. Or in this case, the prey.

Rounding the corner, easily finding that still the house showed no signs of life, he began to search for the two's room. There were only three rooms on the top floor; a guest bedroom, he soon found out, a closet, and - ah, here. Their room, the largest bedroom, where the two slept soundly. There was a mirror on the edge of the room beside a dresser, as well as another closet here as well. The two were sleeping soundly near the window, with easy access to both sides of the bed. It was a rather fine setup.

He strode forward, taking a knife instead of his signature half-scythe, approaching the man first. He was amazing at keeping himself silent, raising the knife above the man's chest. It was easy to drive it into his heart, watching as the blade bit quickly into skin. Necure grinned at the sight, withdrawing the blade from his chest. It was over quickly for him, and obviously. As much fun as it would be, he didn't want to draw out anything yet. It would cause too much noise, possibly set someone off.

Turning towards the woman, he came towards the other side of the bed, and the grin stretched wider. Her form was barely visible without light, though his left eye found a better visibility in the dark than the right, but it was peaceful. Little did she know the end was so soon for her. He felt powerful again. He could break anyone's life off just like cutting a thread with a pair of scissors. Give him the tools, and, snip, snip! Done~!

Her end was similar to her husband's; a simple knife to the chest. _A little anti-climatic, though, _Necure thought absently. It was, though, wasn't it? He had quite a few more people, though, to finish, so he'd probably fine. Tonight would be an _excitement_.

He slipped the knife away, the steel whispering softly against the leather as it slid into its sheathe. Then, he opened the window beside their bed, pulling himself up and looking around. It looked directly over the guard's route, and the guard wasn't looking up. Necure slipped over the sill, then onto the thin roofing. Balancing on the wood that held up the thatched roof, he waited. The guard, of course, began his way around. He was holding a torch, but that wouldn't be such a problem. The blond waited until the guard was a few steps away, then leapt down from the thatched roof, a shower of the small grasses following him.

The man whipped around at the sound of his feet hitting the ground, opening his mouth to yell out. He got out only a short noise when Necure's dagger drove into his stomach, then ripped away. "_Bleed_," Necure hissed, withdrawing the knife and then slashing again, at the man's throat.

The man couldn't avoid it, and his torch dropped to the ground with his body. Necure turned, sprinting back towards the trees. Somehow, though, he still did so quietly.

* * *

Aaron was a nervous boy. He didn't like the Organization; he'd been told over and over by people in the Organization _what_ exactly their 'founder', Alexei Dinoia, had done, but it didn't sound right. It wasn't right! And he, like everyone else, knew who Necure really was. What lies he had been fed, and had believed hungrily. _Everyone _knew who Necure was, knew the great search that had gone on for Flynn Scifo, the Commandant of the Imperial Knights, but had been disbanded a long time ago.

Yes, everyone knew. Everyone in the Organization, that is.

Aaron wasn't really _weak_; he was anxious and afraid. What would happen if the Knights found out? What if they got to the Organization? They'd all be killed, if they couldn't escape. No one would go into imprisonment, he was certain. Why would the current commandant do that? No, they would be _murdered_. It wouldn't be in cold blood, though.

Father always told him they should swear revenge on the Empire, for all the sins it had committed. Aaron didn't understand, though. Flynn had been trying to fix all the evil in the Empire, right? They hadn't even given him a chance.

_Can't think like that, _Aaron thought. _I'll let it slip what I think about their ideals. Then I'll be killed.  
_

He was especially scared tonight. Flynn - no, Necure, he could no longer be called the idealistic, good-natured knight loved by the people of the Empire - wouldn't hesitate to kill him. He knew he was only a burden on the former knight's shoulders. He was only holding the man back, and he knew the man likely wouldn't have any of that. So, he stayed quiet, still, hoping that Necure didn't have a mind to come decide to murder him. He doubted his father would care and any punishment to Necure would be light.

When he saw the blond darting through the shadows towards the forest, his heart skipped a beat. There was a little blood on his boots and black, hooded tunic.

"Come on, boy," the young man said, and Aaron have a quick nod. Necure reached for his belt, pulling out another knife - there were two, those and the scythe being his weapons - and moving his hand towards the boy. Instinctively, Aaron shifted backwards, but Necure was only offering it towards him. Hesitantly, he grabbed it like a stray dog would snatch food, looking up at the blond.

"I've got a mission for you, and you alone. I'm not going to help." _Why not? I haven't had any training - at all! _None to be worth anything, at least. "I'm going to show you one of the houses. Sneak in, kill the man there. I'm going after the rest of the village, hear?"

Aaron nodded quickly. "Y-yessir!" he stammered, and Necure nodded, standing and striding out. "Good. There's no guard to worry about, let me show you the home."

It was right across from the Philis' home, and this door was unlocked, surprisingly. Necure waved Aaron on and the boy gripped the knife a little tighter, swallowing nervously. Under the blond's currently watchful eye, he opened the door slowly and stepped in. This house was smaller with only one story, and there were only a few doors. He'd have to check quietly, because there was a fire going and he'd definitely be seen. The door behind him slid shut.

A brief thought of escaping flitted in his mind. _No, _he said, stomping the flame of thought, _if I run, he'll chase. If he chases, he'll find me. I'll die. I'll die either way..._ With the discouraging thought in mind, he tried to find the bedroom of the home. The first room was like a small library, except along with books there were weapons. _M-maybe that means the guy is unarmed. _He didn't believe his thoughts.

The next room, as he peered in, indeed was a bedroom, and there was someone in the bed. He opened the door a little too quickly and it creaked. The form in the bed stirred and Aaron squeaked. The man's head raised, looking blearily around the room and reaching for something by his bedside. He saw Aaron quickly, and the boy swallowed hard. _Courage, courage! I can do this! I have to before he gets his weapon - !_

He lurched forward, faced with the fear of brutal death. He heard the door creaking as it gradually closed again, and came swiftly towards the man, raising the knife and then aiming to stab him in the stomach.

A blade met his stomach quicker, though, sinking in and stopping him in his path. His eyes widened, freezing as he was impaled and then dropping the knife. The pain was terrible, too harsh for words or sounds. The man started to bring the sword up to finish him off, and Aaron voiced his final words.

"_He's here_."

The door to the bedroom clicked shut.

* * *

Necure smirked as he walked away from the house. The boy could not survive; that was the swordsman's home and he'd sent the kid in there purposely. _Whoops, _he imagined the excuse, _he died in battle. Tried to take down the biggest brute in the village, did he? Failed at it, though. _He swiftly started towards the next home, picking the lock and opening the door to begin in. It didn't take him long to find the bedroom and his first victim was struck down quietly; a child, so there had to be someone else. He checked the rest of the rooms; office, bathroom, closet, pantry - bedroom! Heh, there went two more; a mother and father.

That was when a thick scent hit his nose. It didn't take long for his mind to specify what it was.

_Smoke_.

He cursed, opening the window opposite of the bed and peering out. The Philis' family's home was up in flames, the thatch roof catching easily and a good source for the hungry fire. A plume of smoke rose over it. He jumped out, sliding briefly on the roof and then jumped down, rolling on the ground to catch himself and then landing on his feet, standing straight. He'd have to get the rest of the job done quickly. _Four down, _he thought, _eight to go. _Eight adults, at least.

Then again, a survivor or two wouldn't be so bad, as long as they didn't have any intel on the Organization's whereabouts and motives or his own location. Let them be fearful; assassinations sweeping over, a village going down in flames. He smirked, heading towards the next house.

Within twenty minutes, the fire had spread to three other houses; one he hadn't been to - but he had seen no attempt to escape, either it was abandoned or the inhabitants were trapped inside. Or they hadn't woke up yet, but the former two were more likely. Necure had struck down two more people. He'd seen two people run off into the trees, and hadn't chased them. _Two, four. Five, six, eight. Two or so in the house._

_Only one to go, supposedly._

And as if on cue, he heard a shout, and footsteps running towards him. It was Triton Roice, armed with a sword - that looked suspiciously like knight issue - sprinting towards him. Necure barely had enough time to dance lightly out of the way, scythe in his right hand and knife in his left as he drew both in a single movement.

"So, you're the famed swordsman around here, are you?" the blond laughed, and the brunet did not speak and shifted his weight, sizing his opponent up - the same thing Necure was doing.

The man was large, larger than Necure, had a steady, strong frame, and the sword was obviously a natural ability. He had dark hair that went to about his shoulders and Necure saw that the blade already had the dark blood pasted upon it. His eyes were steely and green and the light of the fire behind them reflected in the depths. He had a strong, set jaw, and obviously was experienced; the rain of battle scars tore pigment away from areas of his face and loosely-clothed arms. The man was fast, too, as Necure had just learned, and he knew there was strength and precision behind that blade.

Good, a fight that should interest him.

Equally, the man was looking at Necure. The blond had a lanky, but athletic build, and they were equally quick. The smaller man's left eye glowed a dim green and moved differently than the right, but there was a strange bracelet-like strip of leather around the blond's wrist that could only be an eye patch. The form was strong as well, but he used an impractical weapon, it seemed. A scythe? How silly. He looked experienced too, though, and there was something familiar in that one blue eye, he could not place.

"Your companion fell by my hand," he said, hoping to spark some intimidation into the blond's form. It didn't work and a cruel grin spread across his face, almost maniac. There was a glint in the blond's natural eye that set him off.

"That's what I was hoping for," he replied with cold, high-pitched laughter. "Weak, wasn't he?"

"Not really. He had enough courage to tell me where you were; his last words, in fact."

"Oh, yes, so courageous. Face a lot of people with death and it isn't courage anymore. Something said by death is meaningless."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," the man replied. "But, don't you kno - " He didn't let himself finish, suddenly lunging forward. Necure was at least taken by surprise and the swordsman offered him a small smirk. That was a nice little trick; think you're going to hold a conversation -

\- and never finish it.

Luckily, the assassin was fast, bringing up the scythe. The sword slammed into the sharpened sickle and Necure was glad his steel was especially reinforced. Both blades got a slight nick from the impact. Necure smirked, though, pushing the sickle down to force the sword to lower, bringing up his knife. The swordsman was quick and lowered the blade, springing back and then rounding on him again. He feigned left, then swung right, but Necure was used to this. He ducked and rolled backwards, sprang on his feet and then darted to the side, staying in the side of the man's vision.

The swordsman swiped at him, and he at the man, but neither got any real blows. _An equal match! At last! _Necure was grinning and, not discouraged, was having a _fine_ time. The blond went left, right, zigzagging and then sprinting in a semicircle. He sprang up, the sickle going around the man's sword and forcing it downwards, knife going up again. The man leaned to the left, dodging the first biting blow, then with a powerful push flung Necure off and sent the blond rolling and onto his feet again.

_He's strong, and heavy, _Necure thought. _That could be a disadvantage. And, an advantage._

He swung with the sickle, and met the sword - but rather than stabbing or slashing this time, he threw the knife, smirking as it embedded in the man's left shoulder. It wouldn't take away his ability to fight, but it'd hinder him. The man snarled and raised the blade, bringing it down. Necure barely had enough time to bring the scythe up to stop the blade before it got to him. Nearly losing the grip, the weight of the sword and the stronger bearer bore down on him, though he pushed back with much might. Cursing softly, he flung the sword to the side and kicked the man away, dancing away again.

Right then, he noticed how severe the fire had gotten. It hadn't breached the forest - the village wasn't near the forest, rather in a wide clearing. There were, however, long grasses, and they weren't exactly fire resistant.

They weren't long grasses, actually; they were fields. And, the majority was on fire. Black smoke filled the air and the drum roll of the flames cracked and snapped, devouring anything else they could. And it was just then he noticed how the swordsman was driving him towards the fire. The village houses were crumbling around them, creating lanes that blocked his escape. Fire ate away at either side of him, and behind him.

_Shit! _was his immediate thought. He hadn't even realized this. He, the fox-like, clever assassin, hadn't even realized he was being cornered. And he didn't fight well when cornered - and against a stronger opponent...he had to get out of this predicament.

He tried going to either side but the man swiftly stopped him and sent a few slashes his way, ever pushing him back. Necure's teeth grit; he was _losing _this battle and losing was not something he took kindly to. He was prideful, and knew when and how to retreat, but he didn't just _lose_. This man was infuriating.

So, the blond fought. He tried to squirrel his way past the man, sprinting and feigning this way and that, but he seemed to have literally met his match. Each attempt was counteracted and fought against.

He sprinted forward again, trying to move across again, but the man raised the pommel and slammed it against Necure's left arm. The blond let out a hiss when said pommel fell against his wrist, stumbling back, and then he froze.

Fire licked at Necure's heels. He could go no farther.


	4. In the Mind of the Mad

**A/N:** If you're wondering what the weapon Necure/Flynn uses is, it is kind of a mix between an Egyptian kopsch and a sickle. The blade is made out of a specialized metal so it's very hard, and Necure puts a lot of attention to it so it's almost _never_ dull.

Also, no, I haven't lost interest in this! My writing muse took a nose dive, but I'm trying to get back into it. I already have the outline and details of this story written out - so, don't worry about that, either.

I also feel like I should mention this fic is not supposed to be a very lengthy one. There are only two more chapters, after this one, remaining.

* * *

_blank _**:: Tabula Rasa :: **_slate_

**Chapter IV . In the Mind of the Mad**

* * *

Necure was cornered in the field of fire, with the swordsman in front of him and the hungry flames behind him. The man was grinning in victory as the killer's gaze flickered this way and that. There had to be a weak point, somewhere. He couldn't just _die_, not like that stupid boy! Dammit, he should have killed the boy himself! Then he wouldn't be in this position - it would have been far too easy to just have done it himself. Even if he did enjoy the thrill of killing - or even sending another to their death - prolonged fights were not his fancy. He was ready to fox his way out of nearly any situation, but that wasn't a very easy thing to do when faced with a blade on one side and Hell on earth on the other.

_Karma, _said that bastard voice in his head.

_Shut up! Unless you're saying something useful, I don't need you to distract me right now, thank you_ very_ much_! he snapped back at the voice, thoughts laced with bitter sarcasm at the latter words. Thankfully, it went quiet. Good, now he could think. Well, the man was advancing ever so swiftly; he wouldn't be able to think _anything_ for much longer if he didn't hurry up and get his circumstances under control. The man was stronger than him, that he got. He was also fast, just a tick slower than Necure but fast enough that he couldn't manage to squirrel and dance his way out of the man's advance. Now, trapped between the deadly, gleaming blade and the fire that it reflected, he knew he had to outfox the man, and fast.

"Well, well, well," the swordsman laughed, and Necure shot a glare that was hotter than the flames behind him. "It looks like the wolf who's been messing with the sheep has finally met the shepherd."

"Nice to meet you," the blond's voice was a sarcastic drawl. "Now, if you'd be so kind, step to the side, please?" Keep him talking, keep him talking. This time, Necure stayed on his guard. The man wasn't going to pull the trick on him again.

"No, I'm afraid I won't," the larger man replied, taking a step forward. He was getting uncomfortably close and Necure swiped his scythe, at least managing to get the man to step back a pace. "I'm afraid you've met your end, _murderer_."

"That's just unfortunate," Necure spat, taking a step forward and glad to be at least this much away from the hungry fire. "You're a worthy opponent, really. It's a shame that I'll have to kill you like all of the other pests in this place." He swiped again, but the shriek of steel sounded and his scythe collided with the sword. A quick glance at the blade with his left eye, the other remaining completely trained on the swordsman, showed him the poor condition of his weapon - but also, the other's. Both of the blades were nicked and in a few places dented. Near the tip of the opponent's the sword curved down, and his own scythe's crosspiece had been nearly chipped in half by a particularly strong strike from his enemy. Both dented and nicked blades still shown, though, and the reflection of the flames made the dim orange light illuminate between them, not only behind them.

"I must say, little fox. You are quite brave for your predicament. Or perhaps," their blades came apart then, and less than a second later they crashed back together in a deadly song as they swiped at each other, "_crazy_." _Crazy_. Now, that was certainly something Necure was _not _\- after all, it was all of his own accord. What did it matter if it had taken some persuasion to find himself in this position? What did it matter that at first he was reluctant? _Now_, it was his job - a job he enjoyed doing.

He took genuine offense to that. "I'm not crazy," he muttered.

"Crazy or brave - you're strong, in the very least. I haven't had a fight like this in forever."

Necure was not the only one feeling the effects of the battle. The heat from the roaring blaze behind him was causing both to sweat and pant, reaffirming their grip on their weapons and straightening their postures. Necure wouldn't be able to hold out against this man for much longer, though. His stomach ached with the heat and adrenaline and caused him to feel nauseous and his arms were trembling a bit, palms sweating and causing him to have to grip his own weapon harder to avoid it slipping from his fingers. So, it was time to take risks, and hope he'd taken the right ones. As warped as his thinking may be at times, he didn't want to die.

The swordsman raised his sword with both hands, elbows out and ready to drive it into Necure and end this battle once and for all. Necure remained still until the last moment, when he dropped and the sword went above his head. Triton, expecting much more resistance than this, stumbled forward, and that gave the assassin enough time to scramble out of the way, but he stayed on the ground once he'd done this. He swung the scythe around, using the weapon's sharp, curved edge to wrap around the man's powerful legs, pushed down a small amount, then the arch of the weapon was at his enemy's ankles. He jerked the sickle backwards and then twisted his wrist a bit to the left, shoving upwards with a surprising show of strength that contested his lean frame. The small scythe-like weapon first slashed into the man's pants, tearing the thin fabric with extreme ease and then flesh of the area right below both his kneecaps. With the twist of his wrist towards himself the point tore into the skin on his adversary's left leg and Necure let a crooked grin of cruel pleasure find its way onto his face as Triton shouted in pain.

Pulling his weapon back, he swiftly pushed himself to his feet and raised the scythe. Triton was quick, even in his injured state, and whirled about just as the scythe came down. Just as the scythe's tip, glinting in the firelight, found its way into his back, the sword's edge cut into Necure's unprotected stomach. It was only a slash, but it was deep and _hurt_ and Necure suppressed a cry, snarling in pain instead. The next move was his own, finalizing the struggle between them, and he pushed the scythe under Triton's throat, tip curled around him, then jerked his weapon to the right. It surely cut in and, one arm draped over his new wound, he kicked the bleeding body of Triton Roice close to the fire's roaring edge. With an enraged, feral look, he spat, "Hope you enjoy _burning_." Triton would likely bleed out before the flames reached his body, but Necure's mind didn't process that in his irritated state. Probably for the better of the dying swordsman, in any case.

The assassin, with a final spit in the dirt, turned and fled the village, blood dripping from his fingertips.

* * *

The way back was a particularly annoying one. Necure had managed to dress his wounds with the little pack he kept with him, a first aid kit, and the bleeding had stopped with the appliance of more than one lemon gel - it hadn't been as deep as he'd originally thought in the heat of the battle, only the tip of the blade had managed to cut into his flesh and it hadn't hit any organs - but the wound hadn't been cleaned, and he was eager to make sure that he'd be fine before running off and picking more fights with people particularly like Triton.

People who could hold a sword against his scythe, that is.

Necure may have been very prideful, but at the same time, he was _definitely _not stupid. He knew when to withdraw ( _if feral instincts didn't decide to overcome him in the heat of battle, that was _) and when his life was in greater danger than his dignity. He took chances, but only when he had no other choice, or when the chances leaned in his favor.

To put it simply, Necure was not reckless.

That didn't matter now, though. He was already injured and making his way back to their headquarters; _why_ did it have to be such a long journey? Luckily, there were few monsters to worry about. Those that did attempt to attack the wounded assassin were weak even compared to his hindered state, and he could easily hold them off and then kill them.

He wasn't being followed, either. He'd doubled back a few times just to make sure, not going far but far enough, and there was no one. So, he slipped back relatively unharmed. Other than the wound and a few scratches monsters managed to land, he wasn't in _that_ bad of a shape.

It took him the full week to make the return journey. Necure made sure, one last time, he hadn't been followed, before he began to enter the underground headquarters of the Organization. It didn't take him long to make it down the familiar path, then begin quietly towards the doors. The guards paid him little mind, they never did, so he stepped by. First things first, Dyston. He wasn't returning with who he left with, so he might as well just tell what happened.

_Well_, granted, he wasn't going to tell the _full _story. Dyston may not have been fond at all for his son, to the point of practically unofficially disowning him, but Necure wasn't just going to say he sent in the boy to die. No, there were alternatives.

He didn't remember the path to Dyston's office being this long and vaguely he wondered if he'd passed it, but he hadn't. Arriving to the room, he knocked on the door and heard the man's voice a second later.

"_Come in._"

The blond pushed open the door and stepped inside, frowning slightly. "The mission is finished. The village is dead, with minimal survivors; only one or two escaped," he said, not sitting down. "The most important targets were eliminated."

"Good. I will file the mission as completed," Dyston replied, then glanced towards the door. "Is Aaron not with you?"

There was a hesitation. "No, sir. The boy didn't make it. A man there - he was mentioned in the mission's summary, Triton something, Rice? Roice. Triton Roice, he killed the boy; I fought him afterwards, and he proved to be a powerful opponent. He was ended as well, though. Your son picked an opponent too strong for him, I'm afraid." There was no actual hesitation in his voice, though; the lie couldn't have been told from the truth. He held Dyston's gaze the entire time.

"I see." There was minimal grief in Necure's boss' voice and eyes. The man _truly _did not care at all for the boy that did not hold the same ideals as him; all the better for Necure, though.

"Another thing; the village burned. The guard dropped his torch close enough to one of the homes that they caught. I'd be right to say there's nothing but ruins there, now." Dyston nodded before pushing his chair back, leaning over to one of his drawers to pick through it a moment.

"Alright. Now, then, since that mission has been completed, I have a new one to be completed at your leisure." _Good, he could take a bit of time. _"This one is very important; you must _not _fail. Help will be there if you are caught, but it is a dangerous assignment. If you are killed, then we will merely send someone else after you to finish your job. It is in Zaphias; you'll have to take a ship there."

Dyston pulled out a file and laid it on the desk in front of him, then brought out one sheet and handed it to Necure. The assassin took it, looking down and reading it over. His boss remained silent as he did so.

_The Organization: Mission Journal [ **Code**: 8796 ] Headquarters Office_

_**Assassin:** Necure Simente [ 1337 ] **Location: **Zaphias, Ilyccia **Scale: **Large **Type: **Assassination [ Multiple Targets ]  
_

**_Trip Time [ return trip included ]: _**_Uncertain_

**_Target(s):_** _Emperor Ioder Argylos Heurassein, Princess Estellise Sidos Heurassein, Commandant Sodia Bellator, Brave Vesperian Yuri Lowell_

_This mission is extremely important and the assassin involved must be one of our best. The Organization plans to carry out the most important mission in our history; to eliminate the Emperor and all heirs to the throne. The Commandant of the Imperial Knights must be eliminated as well; spies within the Knights will proceed to take over this army and one of our own will become the new commandant. The guildsman, Yuri Lowell, is from Brave Vesperia, best known for their actions four years ago. He is to be eliminated for the fact that he may cause severe problems for the Organization. He is to be eliminated first and foremost, as he is deemed the strongest and most dangerous out of all the targets. The Emperor and princess are next to be silenced, followed finally by the commandant. Any casualties of guards are fine as well._

This journal went on for much longer than the one he'd read previous to it, and while reading it a grin, crooked and sideways, lit up on Necure's face. Yuri Lowell. That was who had made him go through all this pain, wasn't it? That was the main responsible for all of this _agony _he had to go through. Now this man, this despised Yuri Lowell, would feel the bite of Necure's blade. And Necure was sure he'd make it as _slow _and as _painful _as possible; it would show that damn bastard not ever to do that to someone again. Oh, yes - Necure would make Yuri _pay_.

Never mind his injury, ha! He wouldn't be able to _wait _until he could perform this mission. All he needed was energy and strength, and he had plenty of the latter. The blond looked up, then, noticing Kist gazing at him.

"I accept the mission," he said, smirking. "Gladly. And, I'll leave in three days time, is that fine?"

"Are you sure you'll be ready by then?"

_I'm ready right now. _"Yes, I'm certain of it."

"Very well. I'll make arrangements. You are dismissed, Simente."

In a much better mood than when he'd walked into the office, Necure turned and strode away, closing the door behind him.

* * *

It was quiet, the warm red light of dusk having shed all of itself onto the Imperial capital of Zaphias, and it was now replaced by the shining, tiny stars and the blackening sky. A cool night breeze fluttered the branches and golden-brown leaves of a nearby, small tree. all in all, Zaphias seemed quite peaceful that night. Few people roamed the streets, most hurrying to get home to fight off the chill of the autumn season. None were concentrating on their surroundings, all determined to get home, wherever they may live.

In the Lower Quarter, where a certain blond-haired man waited with a grin on his face, the surroundings were similar. He was paid no mind and everyone ignored him - of course, they couldn't see him anyway, as he was hidden in the darkness behind the stairs that led to the upper level of the inn. He wore a black cloak over his normal attire - simply the typical tunic and pants and boots, that was all - and a hood was draped over his hair. As usual, one eye was still covered with the black fabric eyepatch and the insignia of the Organization was sewn onto the left shoulder of the cloak, just where his tattoo would be if he were to remove the item. As he waited, listening to the occasional sounds of feet or shoes on the cobblestone roads of the Lower Quarter, he lazily tossed his sickle into the air, catching it by the handle as it twirled and came back down with ease.

_Look, I'm the Grim Reaper, _he vaguely thought, a grin briefly gracing his expression. _A scythe and a cloak and an order to kill. Would you look at that._

It was about twenty minutes later when the streets were completely deserted. Necure peeked out from beneath the stairs, glancing this way and that with his one eye, before he raised his head. A bit too quickly, in fact, as he hit it on one of the boards of the stairs that slightly went off the edge, a soft curse leaving him. This looked unprofessional, even _if_ no one else was there to see it. Raising his right hand briefly to his head with an annoyed expression, he started up the stairs on the balls of his feet. Despite his previous display of clumsiness, he made little to no sound on the creaky boards. He nearly winced every time one of them started to squeak, testing each board under his foot before he stepped on it. It was a slow progress, but it was progress none the least.

Finally, he made it to the door of his first target's room. He listened for a moment, ear at the crack of the doorway, but heard nothing. Not the slightest squeak or movement or sound. He glanced down, hand going towards the door knob. He knew the lock was broken on this room - it was on most doors around here - and he began turning it.

Slowly, the door to Yuri Lowell's room opened.

* * *

Yuri hadn't been asleep. Repede had woke him up quietly about fifteen minutes ago, hackles raised and urgent to wake Yuri. He'd started to talk, but the war-dog has silenced him with a snarling expression. The dog didn't even let him sit up, and when he tried, the expression returned. Whatever it was was probably heading here, but Repede seemed to be acting...odd about it. Once, his ears went down and he sniffed again, a brief whine escaping him. He wondered what it was, but of course, he couldn't tell.

Yuri noticed his katana, still in its black-and-gold sheathe, near him on the bed; obviously, the dog had put it there, as before it had been on the other side of the room. Finally, he gave a small nod, remaining where he was and pretending to be asleep, listening. After a few minutes he heard a gentle creak, something that didn't fit in with the natural sounds of the night around him. A few minutes later, another. They were unnatural, and all of them were cut off nearly as soon as he began to hear them.

Someone was there and they were coming up the stairs, which was odd. No one lived in the room next door and if it was someone he knew they wouldn't be straining to be so silent, would they? No, it was someone else.

Repede had gotten up to stand behind the door. After another few minutes, this time longer than between the creaks and whines of the abused wood of the stairs, the door began to creep open. Assured that it was indeed someone, he peeked open one eye slightly, but kept the charade of being asleep, taking deep, relaxed breaths. His dog had gone silent as well now, waiting for the person, whoever it was, to emerge.

Yuri couldn't make out the person's figure. He briefly saw the glint of a weapon, but it soon disappeared and, like the figure itself, was enshrouded in darkness. The figure took two steps from the door, leaving it open behind him. The person took another step forward, cloak like mist and swirling about their legs. They were headed right for Yuri.

"_Rrrrghhhrr!_" A flash of blue and the cloaked figure whipped around, nearly tripping as the war-dog caught a firm hold on the clothing. The noise that slipped from his mouth was surprised; whoever it was must not have realized his target wasn't the only one that inhabited the small inn room. Yuri reached quickly for his sword, pulling out the sheathe and grabbing it as well. Without further ado, he threw the hard leather scabbard at the man, a small smirk appearing as it hit the figure right in the back of the head. However, it seemed to anger the person just as much and suddenly they swiped at the war-dog that held a firm grip on his cloak. Yuri heard the sound of metal meeting flesh, followed by a sharp yelp. The person kicked the dog aside and whirled upon Yuri.

The swordsman was ready, though, meeting the curved blade with the steel of the Second Star. He shoved it forward, but the other was surprisingly strong and had both hands pushing into Yuri's sword.

Of course, this was very well something that was not done wisely. Yuri twisted suddenly to the right, turning and slamming his fist into the other, but his assailant was quick and managed to get away with only a slight hit on his shoulder. Even for the rather simple mistakes he was making, the man - for Yuri was sure it was that from the noises he'd heard the figure make that he was indeed male - was obviously no beginner. Yuri briefly let his gaze wander behind him, stepping back, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard Repede getting to his feet again. The dog wasn't hurt too bad, at least.

The dog barked again and rushed at the cloaked figure and Yuri was quick to follow. Even so, it was difficult to maneuver in the tiny room, leaving him more than slightly frustrated. He definitely didn't have enough room for his typical style of swordsmanship. He lowered his sword to block an incoming blow towards Repede and glared at the man. He could see cold blue eyes - eye, actually, for he could only see one - under the hood of the cloak. He was starting to pull the blade up to slash the man, but something stopped him and Repede both immediately.

"Ah, Yuri Lowell. Did you enjoy your last day on Terca Lumireis?"

* * *

_Gotcha._

Both Yuri and the frustrating had frozen immediately upon hearing his words and, although Necure wasn't sure why, he wasn't about to leave a opportunity unused. He raised his weapon, suddenly pulling his dagger from the belt concealed by the cloak as well. It was time to finish his first target off. Oh, he couldn't wait to watch the little bastard writhing on the ground, dying.

He couldn't wait to see the little bastard on the ground at all, dead.

He surged forward and the other barely snapped out of it in time to parry the blow with his knife. He came around with his curved weapon then, aiming to slice it into Yuri's neck. The man ducked, however, pushing himself back towards the open door. "Fleeing? That's rather cowardly of you!" he laughed and lunged forward again. Unfortunately, the tail of his cloak once more fell victim to the protective war-dog's thorn-like teeth, snagging and pulling him backwards as he tried to run after his target. The dog was rather strong, but slamming the pommel of the sickle against the dog's head worked just like it would a human. With a brief yelp and a dazed whine, the dog fell and Necure wasted no time in finishing the quickly going unconscious dog off. He had someone else to kill first.

He didn't bother with the stairs, sheathing his dagger and running out the door. He caught the stair's railing with his right hand, shoving down on it (which proved to be a bad idea, since the supports cracked under his weight and nearly sent him tumbling face-first down to the cobblestones) and pushing off, landing on the ground with a soft grunt. It took less than a second for Necure to recover and he was on his feet again, chasing Yuri. By now, though, his enemy had stopped and turned around, and suddenly the assassin realized he'd been led onto open ground. No matter, though; he could still take this little weasel down with relative ease.

Yuri lunged towards him and he sidestepped, aiming to hit the man in the back of the head with the blunt arch of the blade. He scowled when the other ducked, and then took off running again. The swordsman was heading straight for an alleyway and Necure was in quick pursuit. Just as he was gaining on Yuri, the other sharply jumped to the side, bracing himself off a wall on a building, then pushed himself behind Necure. The assassin turned around quick enough to see Yuri, holding the blade carefully between his fingers with both hands, bring the sword's entire hilt rushing in a sideways arc towards his head.

His last thought was a curse, and then the hilt of the sword - made out of pure, heavy wood - slammed into his head, replacing all of his senses with nothingness.


End file.
